


We will both show up remarkable

by girl0nfire, saturnmeetsmercury (jarofhearts)



Series: I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Department X, F/M, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Life-Altering Meetings, Smut, Time Shenanigans, What-If, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8180006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofhearts/pseuds/saturnmeetsmercury
Summary: Saturday: AUsShe’s not dressed all that differently than most of the dames here, dress and black heels, her hair done up in impeccable rolls with the rest falling in soft waves onto her shoulders. But the dress is an unpatterned emerald green, and her hair the most startling shade of dark red.And Bucky just about flips his stool leaning back to get a good look at her, his eyes running over her as she looks around the crowd, and please don't be meeting someone -(they keep saving each other, even when they don't realize it's exactly what they need)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is so incredibly special to me - to both of us - and I don't have the words to express how much. When it was written, it sparked two more parts related to this in its wake, which will be posted eventually as well to make up its own little series. Please, please enjoy!
> 
> One more thing I - saturnmeetsmercury - need to say: I have written this story together with a stunning writer, and a friend I wouldn't want to miss in my life for the whole world. (*points wildly at the second author's name up there*) You have made me cry while writing this, and you still do when I go back to reread it. I'm so proud to be able to call this our baby.

It's rare for them to have a whole night of leave anymore, ever since the air raids picked up down south. But for tonight the sirens are quiet in London and that's cause enough to celebrate. Bucky let the other officers and a few of their friends talk him into putting on his Class A's and heading into London proper, with the promise of whiskey and skirts and music that isn't followed by propaganda spots on their hand-crank radio. 

And he wasn't disappointed, at least not entirely. But as the night wore on, his friends broke away in turn, spinning on the small dance floor to the music spilling from the tinny piano in the corner, more than one disappearing out into the night with a bright-eyed dame on his arm, and soon enough just about all his compatriots have left or gotten snatched up.  

Maybe Bucky is just being picky, having already turned down two brunettes and an eager, blue-eyed blonde, or maybe the stars just aren't on his side tonight. He orders another whiskey from the barkeep, trading his empty glass for a full one, and loosens his tie a bit, pushing his hand through his hair. 

The bar's door creaks open, and habit has Bucky craning his neck around the couple beside him to look and see who's come in. 

Oh, well. 

That certainly changes things.

She’s not dressed all that differently than most of the dames here, dress and black heels, her hair done up in impeccable rolls with the rest falling in soft waves onto her shoulders. But the dress is an unpatterned emerald green, and her hair the most startling shade of dark red.

And Bucky just about flips his stool leaning back to get a good look at her, his eyes running over her as she looks around the crowd, and  _ please don't be meeting someone _ -

She takes a step inside, closing the door behind her, and he gives himself a moment to let his eyes linger on the low neckline of her dress before he yanks his tie up again, pushing at his hair, so that he's straightened back up by the time she brushes past him. He slips off his stool, turning to face her, and makes a point of catching her eye. 

Now or never, Barnes, what is it that Gabe says, faint heart never won fair -

"What's a lovely gal like you doing at a place like this all alone, now?"

She glances towards him, something obviously on the tip of her tongue already, just like he’s pretty sure that it was only supposed to be a quick glance. But somehow she does a double take and doesn’t say anything at all for a moment, eyes simply resting on him, taking him in.

The hint of a smile curls around the corners of her red lips for the briefest of seconds.

“What’s anyone doing at a place like this all alone?” she eventually returns, finally turning fully towards him.

"Waiting on a dame as pretty as you to come along and fix that for me," he counters, letting his hands slide into the pockets of his slacks, and - okay, maybe puffing his chest a little, trying on that half-grin the girls back home always used to like. "Buy you a drink for your trouble?"

There’s a small smirk flickering over her lips if he doesn’t imagine it, and she tilts her head subtly to the side, eyes going over him from head to toe.

“You do this a lot, hm?”

"That'd insinuate there are a lotta girls that're as pretty as you, so -"

Bucky watches her mildly, cocking his hips a bit and preening under her gaze. Once her eyes have traveled up to his face again, he shifts to the side to motion at the stool he'd just vacated, offering her his hand. 

"Not really, sugar, no."

It does seem like she’s considering for a moment,  _ something  _ at least, her gaze calmly going from his hand to his eyes. But eventually she does take it and slides gracefully onto the stool, not once actually putting any weight on his hand.

He slides in to stand next to her, not crowding her yet, but pressing as close to her side as he dares. She crosses her knees over, delicately, adjusting her skirt, and he takes a second of her distraction to sneak a look down the neckline of her dress again, because sue him, it's been a long war. 

"So what'll it be, doll?" He leans his left elbow on the bar, turning to face her more fully and keeping himself as casual as possible, knowing full well that usually the uniform does his job for him, but that she's very likely to be a tougher customer than he usually deals with.

“Are you going to drink with me, Sergeant?” she wants to know, watching him, head tilted just a little, before her lips quirk subtly in a way that’s hard to figure out. “And do you really call all your girls that?”

Ah, so she recognized the rank on his uniform, at least. So she's either smart, a spy, some other guy's lonely girl, or one of those good-time gals that's gonna hit him up for his wallet after they're done, like how Dugan got played two Thursdays ago - 

Jeez, Barnes, just  _ enjoy it _ \- 

"Way ahead of you," he says instead, reaching across her to retrieve his glass, lingering a few moments in her personal space. "And you make it sound like I gotta bunch a girls, what makes you think you aren't the only one?"

That makes her laugh, quiet and low, but there’s warmth to it too.

“Aren’t we always. You only just met me and you’re already offering promises you can’t keep? The night’s not quite old enough yet for that, don’t you think?” she says, amusement dancing in her eyes. “And if there were Mojitos to be had here, I’d be quite happy.”

"Coming right up," he grins at her, signaling the barkeep and ordering one before he turns back to her with a wink.

"I'm James, by the way," he offers her his hand again. "And what can I call you, gorgeous -"

“You seem to be doing a good job coming up with a lot of things to call me,” she returns, one eyebrow drawn up, but she’s grinning back at him, sharp and beautiful, and her hand slips into his again. “Nice to meet you, James.”

He brings her hand up, slowly, holding her eyes while he brushes his lips over her knuckles.

Girls love that kinda stuff. 

"Pleasure's all mine, I think." He strokes his thumb over her fingers for a moment, waiting for her to pull away.

She doesn't. Simply watches him with that small, wry smile of hers that's so hard to read, curious maybe, or indulgent, or appreciative. It could be so many things.

But she doesn't pull away.

So, when her drink arrives, he slides it to her with his left hand, leaning his elbow on the bar again to hold her gaze, shifting closer again, until her foot nudges against his leg beneath the bar. 

"So," he strokes his thumb over her fingers again, more slowly, lingering. She's the kinda challenge he  _ likes _ . "Third time's a charm? Asking a question and actually getting an answer?"

It looks like she bites down on the inside of her lower lip for just a moment before breaking into a smile. But she hasn't looked away yet either.

"I told you what I like to drink when you asked, didn't I?"

"Damn, sugar, you're making this harder than it oughta be," he grins at her, leaning in a tiny bit closer. "You did indeed, but you haven't tried it yet, so how am I supposed to know it's alright?"

Her eyebrow rises, a soft laugh coming over her lips.

"Right then. Will you give me back my hand for it?"

"Hey -"

He chuckles, letting go of her hand but not stepping away. 

"If you gotta use two hands for everything, I might be barking up the wrong tree," he grins at her over the edge of his glass, raising his eyebrows in a sort of toast.

She simply reaches for her own glass and ignores the gesture, taking a first sip. And then she shrugs casually, unimpressed, and replies, "If I'm going to have to use them again for anything else tonight, I suppose I am too."

Bucky about chokes on his mouthful of whiskey, getting it down but only just. Jesus, she's not fooling around, is she, and isn't  _ that  _ exciting all by itself. 

He's gotten tired of playing the 'I've never done this before's, the 'I promise I'll write's, all those little games girls seem to like to play before they'll take their clothes off, like they're not unescorted in a GI bar in a dark corner of London to begin with. 

Sheesh. So much  _ work _ , he'd rather save his energy for later. 

"I'm a gentleman, ma'am," he replies, once he's had another sip, regained his smirk. "You won't lift a finger, I promise."

"Good." She calmly takes another sip before looking at him again. And this time it's her who leans over, bringing her mouth closer to his ear to say, "You don't want to find out what I do with both hands."

Bucky presses his advantage, lets his right hand rest gently on her thigh beneath the bar. 

"I guess I better impress you, then."

She doesn't move, neither her leg under his hand, nor away from where she can talk privately into his ear.

"Let me give you a hint then… You're doing average so far. But the Mojito is really good."

When she straightens in her seat again, she's smiling subtly.

_ Christ _ .

He's either real lucky or really fucked, playing with a girl like this one. 

But hell, he doesn't mind risking getting his fingers burned. 

So he lets his hand slide over her thigh slowly, fingers coming to curl around the inside of her knee, just below the hem of her dress. He keeps his touch light, his eyes on her face, and after another sip of his drink, it's his turn to lean in closer, lips so close to her ear they almost brush against her skin. 

"You could finish your drink and dance with me," he offers, taking a moment to breathe in her perfume, something fresh and spicy, only adding to her allure. 

Intoxicating. 

"That might change your mind."

When he draws away again enough to catch the look on her face, he sees that warmer kind of smile again, and she raises her glass to drink what's left in it.

"I was hoping you'd ask," she says and reaches down, curling her fingers around his hand.

Bucky lifts her hand once again as she slips off the stool, all fluid grace, practically floating. He rummages in the inside breast pocket of his jacket for a moment, retrieving a few notes and leaving them on the bar before he meets her eyes again, pulling gently at her hand. 

"They're playing our song," he says, nodding toward the small dance floor further in the back of the bar. "After you."

She turns to go so he only gets a fleeting glimpse of it, but for a moment Bucky thinks there's something almost melancholy to the way she's smiling now. With her hand closed around his she leads him to the small dance floor where other couples are swaying together, and finally turns back to look up at him.

What he thought he saw is gone now, and he tries not to think too hard about it.

He's - they're all there, just on that knife's edge of worry, of doubt, running half-scared all the time that the sirens will go off again, that tonight's the night it all goes, when death drops silent from the sky. This moment - it's supposed to be his escape from that, their escape, so without a word he loops his right arm around her waist, drawing her in perhaps closer than is strictly necessary for a waltz, taking her right hand in his and waiting for a beat, two, before slipping them into an open space in the circuit of couples moving around the small dance floor.

She falls into step with him as easy as anything, responding to his cues like it’s far from the first time they’re doing this. Her hand on his shoulder is just a little too high for it to be an accident, fingertips just brushing along his collar, and she feels warm and inviting as she moves with him. Her body feels nice, fitted to his, and this close he can breathe in her perfume again, appreciate the soft fabric of her dress, the delicate waves of her hair cascading over her shoulders. She really is beautiful, in an almost familiar, homesick kind of way, and he presses his cheek to her temple, gathering her in closer as they revolve slowly around the floor.

They dance through the song, and the next, and Bucky eventually does do his best to show off, using the best of the steps his mother had taught him to try and impress her with his skill, ending the next song with a slow, fluid motion, twirling her under his arm, her dress flaring slightly around her, and when he draws her back in again, it's  _ she  _ who presses closer to him this time.

There’s a smile on her lips, more carefree than he has seen her before, eyes alight as they settle back on him, locking their gazes.

“You’re a good dancer, James,” she says, still in his hold where their dance ended, not shy to take her time and study the color of his eyes from up close.

"Thank you," he replies, not ready to release her either, even as the couples around them start to disentangle themselves, a few embraces turning into kisses as the piano player closes the cover over the keys, the bass player announcing that they'll be back in a few minutes after their break. 

Bucky lets his fingertips stroke over the fabric of her dress, over her waist, his hold loose enough that she could walk away if she wanted to. 

"Would you like another drink?" he leans in more closely, lets his nose nudge against her cheek, and they're only one of three couples left lingering on the floor. "I'd hate to say goodnight so soon."

“How about not saying goodnight at all?” is what she replies and tilts her head just enough that they’re cheek to cheek, her hand still curled in his.

And then, as if she has said nothing at all, she pulls away and smiles at him.

“I’ll take a drink if you tell me something about yourself.”

"What do you want to know?" 

He offers her his arm, escorting her back toward the bar, thinking better of it and veering them toward a small table tucked away in the corner, near the door.

She slips into the chair and considers him openly, slowly brushing a finger over her chin.

“What’s your favorite place in the world?”

He takes the seat across from her, leaning his elbows on the small table and looking at her, eyes roving over her face. Their knees brush beneath the table, and her foot drags over his calf when she crosses her legs again, entirely deliberate.

_ What about not saying goodnight at all? _

Bucky thinks he likes where this is going.

"There's a park," he says, signaling a waitress, ordering another mojito for the lady and another whiskey for himself.

"Between the Brooklyn bridge and the Manhattan bridge, on the Brooklyn side, you can get right up on the edge of the water, and on a clear night you can see the whole city lit up."

He smiles at her, secretly, and that homesick feeling rears up again but he pushes it back, reaching for her hand across the table instead. 

"There. After midnight on a warm day. That's my favorite place in the world." Their drinks arrive, but he doesn't push away, just shifts enough that there's room for the waitress to rest them on the table. "What's yours, then?"

“A true Brooklyn boy, hm?” is the first thing she says, and there’s a softly amused but almost appreciative note to her smile. Her hand curls in his again, her touch warm and sure.

"Through and through," he grins at her, thumb stroking over the back of her hand. "Best kinda boys, if you ask me."

“That’s what I once heard a Jersey boy say…”

"Ugh." He makes a face, can't help it, jeez, those idiots are running around lying like that? "And lemme guess, his company was  _ riveting  _ -"

She’s looking at him with so much amusement.

“I want to say both yes and no just to see your reaction.”

"All I'm saying," he snorts, "is usually the most interesting thing about Jersey boys is their ceilings, or so I've heard."

She breaks into laughter at that one, soft and backed up by a small huff.

“I’m not surprised. Good thing for you that I have no evidence to the contrary.”

"You poor thing."

He likes the sound of that, likes how musical her laugh is, easy, and that's hard to find now. So he doesn't let go of her hand, pushing a little closer to her across the table, and picks up his glass. 

"Stick with me, sugar, I'll treat you right."

“I’m sure you will, honey,” she returns with a pointed, dry quirk of her lips and sips on her own drink.

They enjoy their drinks in silence for a while, Bucky unapologetically letting his eyes wander over her as they do, admiring the slim column of her throat, the curve of her cheek, the scarlet fall of her hair glinting in the bar's low, yellow light. He lets his mind wander, wondering how she'll look beneath him, how she'll sound; her foot nudges against his calf again and he abandons his glass, letting his left hand slip under the table to stroke his fingertips over her knee.

"You're not very good at answering questions," he muses, palm sliding over her knee slowly, fingers just nudging beneath the hem of her dress. "Are you?"

The line of her mouth is soft as she watches him, and this time her leg subtly nudges up against his hand.

“Maybe I simply don’t have answers to all of them.”

She inclines her head a little, and he thinks she’s studying his lips for a moment before her gaze returns to his eyes.

“But there is something about Paris.”

"What about it, exactly?" 

He takes the opportunity, lets his hand slip beneath the hem of her dress, resting his palm on her thigh. He strokes his fingertips over the edge of her stocking, the clip of her suspender, and he  _ missed  _ these, the nice, silky ones the girls back home couldn't get anymore because of the ration. 

She probably looks incredible in them, too.

At first her answer is only a soft hum, but then her gaze drops away, uncharacteristically, and a hint of a soft smile trails over her lips.

“If you ever have the chance to go on a cruise on the Seine, do it. You’ll understand.”

"I'll put it on my list," he says, that list of things he's gonna get to once he's out of here, once you can walk through Paris again without worrying about bombs, about crossfire, once the city is beautiful again.

Whole.

Once everything is.

"You don't seem like a Paris girl, though." He notices her shifting subtly under his hand, and he wonders how far he should push his luck.

Right now it’s not like she gives him any indication either way. She only looks back up at him again and gives him a slow, one-shouldered shrug.

“I’m an everywhere girl.”

"Well, Everywhere Girl," he decides to press his advantage, only a bit, letting his hand wander further up her thigh slowly, "I have to say, you do make lovely company."

“Do you,” she replies but gives him a smile in return for the compliment. After a moment she leans closer again, her lips almost brushing his ear. “How about you kiss me first, Brooklyn Boy, before your hand goes somewhere it’s not supposed to go in public places.”

"Yes, ma'am," he grins in answer, turning his head to catch her in a kiss. And for that moment, everlasting, they're the only two in the room, everything else falling away until it's just her, just this, one perfect kiss blocking out everything else.

Bucky has no idea how long it lasts, but when it finally wears off with her soft sigh brushing over his skin, his lips are tingling. Her eyes open up again right in front of him, lashes thick and dark, her gaze goes from his eyes to his lips, and then she smiles, sudden and bright.

He can't resist stealing another one, just to feel her smiling against his lips. 

"I told you, doll," he grins at her, probably a little mischievous, and abandons her hand on the table to reach up and cup her cheek. "Must've impressed you, already got you asking me to kiss you."

“Already?” She crooks up her eyebrow at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. “How much time do you imagine we had for that?”

He quiets her with another kiss, lets his fingertips trail over her jaw. 

"About half as much time as I figured I'd need to convince you to come back to base with me," he offers, hand dropping away from her face. He considers her carefully, reaching for his glass again. "If you were interested, that is."

“Half as much time,” she repeats, and when she tilts her head to the side, a red lock of hair slides over her shoulder to rest against her neck. “That means you’re prepared to woo me for another hour?”

His eyes slide away from her face for a moment, fascinated by the way the crimson strand curls over the porcelain skin of her neck, and he can't help it, reaches out to twirl it around his fingers playfully. 

"At least that long," he replies, eyes finding hers again. "Was going to offer you a cigarette next, so you didn't think I was just trying to ply you with drinks so I can take advantage of you." He grins, and even he's aware that it's turned a bit wolfish. "Although, I figure between the two of us, I'm maybe not the one who'll be taking advantage after all."

“Mmhh…” She’s smirking now, reaching up and taking his chin in a gentle grasp, her thumb brushing over the hint of rough stubble after a long day. “I really wouldn’t worry about that either. The point where I’m drunk enough to be taken advantage of is the point where you’re long past working up anything of relevance. And let’s save the cigarette for after.”

Bucky smirks at her, leaning into her touch, and uses the opportunity to steal another lingering kiss. Feigning ignorance, he cocks his head, laughter in his eyes. 

His hand slides back down her thigh, slowly, palm gliding over the smooth nylon of her stockings. Appreciative. 

She shivers.

"After what, exactly?"

“After the tour through your base you, I believe, just promised me,” she smirks back at him, and then reaches down herself to put a hand on his thigh in return, unapologetically close to his groin, the warmth of her hand immediately seeping through the fabric.

"What're we waiting for, then?"

“You tell me, Sergeant.”

Bucky leans in again to kiss her, soundly, before pulling away to retrieve another note from his pocket to leave on the table for their drinks. His hand falls away from her thigh, reluctantly, but then he stands, circling the small table to pull out her chair and offering her his hand. 

"It is a lovely night for a walk, now isn't it?"

“Best I’ve seen in months.”

She slips her arm through his as they leave, the voices, the music, the noise falling away behind them with the closing of the pub’s door. Out here the air is fresh, the skies are clear, and it’s quiet enough that the clicking of her heels on the street is distinct and rhythmic.

They walk in silence for a while, Bucky's hand coming up to cover hers where it's curled gently around his arm, and every so often he'll catch her eyes on a sideways glance, making him smile. 

She really is pretty, he thinks, and quick, and honestly, it's maybe the first time he's met a girl out at a bar that he actually wouldn't mind standing the company of for more than a few hours. But that's a luxury he can't really afford, not when they got their orders to ship out for Azzano, Italy next week, and besides, Bucky's not the type of guy who's gonna make promises he can't keep to some girl he doesn't deserve anyway.

He may be the kinda heel that spends a night romancing a girl just to get into her underthings, but he'll be damned if he's gonna be the sort of ass who makes her think it's anything more than exactly what it is. 

Besides, promising anyone anything is a damn fine way to make sure you get your dumbass shot and killed. Bucky's not about to tempt fate; he knows how cruel it is. 

Instead, he stops her for a moment, a few hundred yards from the gates of the base. The moonlight is sliding over her hair, and she looks - 

"You wanna come on in?" he offers, a formality, but an important one. "I can walk you home, if you'd rather."

She looks up at him, having come to a halt right there next to him when he slowed to a stop. This time her lips quirk up in something very soft, and there’s no tease in her tone for now.

“You’re a very sweet guy, underneath all that.”

He gets that, sometimes, and he's never sure what it really means, because all he's  _ doing  _ is being polite, being a decent human being, and he's not -

He's not all that great, or  _ good _ , underneath anything, honestly. 

But what he says is "Thank you," and then he lets his hands frame her face for a moment before he leans in to kiss her, softer than before but more deeply, too, giving them both a few moments.

Her arms come up around his neck while they kiss, slow and increasingly intimate, and then her body is pressed against his front, all curves and femininity. This feels different, now, than the long kiss they’ve shared in the pub, it’s the kind of kiss where its slow intensity steals the breath from your lungs and makes sparks light up all the way down your spine.

She smells so good.

Bucky lets his hands fall away from her face to stroke slowly down her sides, coming to rest on the soft swell of her hips, and he has to talk himself into pulling away, even just far enough to speak. 

"If you wanna keep kissing me like that," he says, his breathing coming faster, "you gotta let me take you someplace private, first."

She laughs softly and leans close again to bite gently into his lower lip, and then she reaches up and draws a hand through his hair.

“Maybe that’s what we should do then?”

He doesn't answer, just hooks his arm around her waist with a grin and hurries them both the last short distance through the gates. Thankfully, Hodge, the idiot night guard, is asleep like usual, doing his level best to keep his fellow soldiers safe, so Bucky is spared the jealousy-induced interrogation he's suffered through before on nights like this. 

From there, it's only a minute's walk to the building that houses the officers' quarters, and he holds the door open for her, lifting a finger to his lips with a wink.

She enters with a very quiet laugh and waits until he has closed the door behind them, letting him lead the way. It takes Bucky a few seconds to realize that since they have entered, she walks entirely silently, the clicking of her heels absent, and that it took him so long to realize because it doesn’t  _ look  _ any different.

He motions her up the stairs, hanging back just enough to make his point that she should go first, and then he follows her up the first flight, lingering just enough to watch the sway of her hips as she climbs, clearly exaggerated for his benefit. He can't help but smile to himself, his hands coming up to slide over her hips from behind when they reach the landing, his lips brushing against her neck as he steers her away from the stairs and down the hall, stopping at the door to his room.

She reaches for the handle immediately and pushes the door open, and then she's turning under his hands. A hand takes hold of the front of his shirt around the tie and pulls him inside, the door clicks shut again, and Bucky finds himself pressed back against it, with her kissing him again just  _ like that _ .

"Jesus, doll -"

He laughs into her mouth, his hands finding her hips again, and she fits herself against his body without any hesitation, rubbing against his front with a contented sigh. 

Bucky takes the invitation, lets his hands wander down to palm her ass instead, pressing their hips together.

“Don’t call me that,” she suddenly says and pulls away just enough to look at him, her hips rolling up against him. “I’m not a doll.”

"Alright, then -" He digs his fingers in, gently, just enough to get a good grip to turn them and press her back against the door. His lips find her neck again, dropping kisses up the column of her throat. "Won't tell me your name, so what d'you want me to call you -"

“Be original,” is her reply, and then both her hands are in his hair, tugging gently until she has his face tilted up again to be able to kiss him.

"Aw, c'mon, Red -" His hands tug at the skirt of her dress, pulling it up until he can get his hands beneath it and on her ass again. "That's no fun, is it -" 

He keeps kissing her, licking into her mouth, and she tastes like mint and sweetness and God, he wants  _ so  _ much more.

“You don’t really believe that,” she counters and her leg comes up, foot sliding over his calf until she can hook her leg around his thigh. She nibbles on his lower lip while her hands start undoing his tie blindly, sure, nimble motions.

Bucky grips her thigh, bending a bit to lift her until both of her legs come to wrap around his hips and then starts walking them towards his bed, letting his lips wander over her jaw. 

"You  _ are  _ pretty fun," he admits, sitting on the edge of it, settling her down to straddle his lap so he can slide his hands up her back and ease down the zipper of her dress.

She arches her back under his hands, reaching up to brush the sleeves off her shoulders and arms the moment he’s done, making her dress slide down to her waist. Without pause she reaches for his tie again next, finishing with it and taking it from him to slide it around her own neck, giving him a grin.

“And I’m optimistic that you can keep up. We might just get a really good deal out of this.”

" _ Optimistic _ ? That's it?" Bucky shrugs off his jacket and drops it off the edge of the bed, wrapping his hands in the edge of the tie to pull her down for another kiss. "You wound me, sweetheart. Really."

“You should be happy,” she counters between kisses, raking her fingers through his hair again. “Not many men I can say that to.”

He lets his hands slip from the tie to cover her breasts instead, fingers stroking appreciatively over the black silk of her bra. 

"Please, I won't be happy until I'm the  _ only  _ guy you're saying that about -"

“Oh, that’s ambitious,” she grins against his lips, hands coming to cup his face while her upper body subtly moves into his touch. “Please be a man of your word -”

"Always." He kisses her again, and then he's taking his time, kissing a path over her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbones, palming her breasts slowly before his hands move to her back again, coaxing her into arching it for him. "Scout's honor an' everything." He nips at the curve of her breast, nuzzling at her skin, his hands finding the clasp of her bra and then falling away again, thinking better of it.

"Stand up," he says, still pressing kisses across the swell of her breast, "I wanna see the whole thing, first -”

He gets a gentle smirk for that, but she does as he asks her. She slides off his lap and to her feet, the dress catching around her hips until she pushes it down so that it can pool around her ankles.

Without any inkling of discomfort or hesitation she glances back at him, letting him look.

"Goddamn -"

She really is  _ gorgeous _ , strong but wonderfully soft, curving in all the right places, scraps of something silky and black and deadly beautiful hiding little bits of her from his gaze, and the way she looks at him,  _ proud  _ and just a little smug, like -

Bucky drags a hand down his face, acutely aware of just how uncomfortably tight the slacks of his uniform have become. 

"Christ, Red, you just go out dressed like this, or is it some kinda special occasion?"

“Maybe a bit of both?” she offers, the smile on her lips widening. Her right hand trails up over her stomach, her breast, up to her shoulder where her fingertips slip under the strap of her bra, and she raises her eyebrows at him, questioning, teasing.

_ Oh, damn. _

Bucky starts unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it untucked when his hands reach the bottom of the placket, and then he shrugs it off, tossing it over the end of the bed to join his jacket. And he'll be fucked on the next inspection, there's no way his Class A's are gonna make it out of this particular evening unscathed, but he'll deal with that later, he's got something way more important to attend to right now.

"Go on," he grins at her, leaning back on his hands, "I don't mind a good show."

“I’d be insulted if you did,” she huffs out in amusement and then just -

It’s like something ripples through her whole body, just a small movement, but it goes from her thighs over her hips over her chest, a subtle sway. She does it again, after a moment, and it’s like she finds her own rhythm in her head, slowly swaying back and forth.

Her hands go up to her hair, fingers curling in the locks and drawing them out before she reaches first to one, then the other roll to come away with the pins holding them. They clatter quietly to the ground, and then she’s drawing her fingers through open hair, falling in curls over her shoulders, and her body never stops moving.

God, he's gonna die. 

He's gonna die, right here, and it is going to be so damn good he doesn't care. 

Bucky watches her move, slowly sliding the strap of her bra off one shoulder, than the other, teasing him, her hands sliding over her breasts, and he can't help it, lets his left hand travel to the front of his slacks, palm pushing down against his erection to relieve some of the pressure, his eyes glued on her. 

"Not getting shy, are you," his voice sounds rougher already, and god, she's gonna  _ kill him _ -

There’s so much amusement in her smile, but so much warmth and appreciation too.

“How about this…”

The tone of her voice has dropped a little as well, her hands sliding down her sides, disappear behind her back.

“I’ll take this off, in exchange for your slacks.”

"You'd be a good poker player," he counters, bending down immediately to untie his shoes and then stripping off his slacks.

Gotta thank that military efficiency.

They join the rest of his uniform on the carpet, and then he leans back on his hands again, grinning at her, cocking his hips pointedly. 

"Your turn."

“You mean I’d be a good bargainer.” She’s smirking softly and then turns, letting him watch how she unclasps the hooks, how she still sways her hips as the bra slides down and she lets it dangle from a fingertip for a moment, glancing at him over her shoulder. “You haven’t seen my poker face.”

"Not really on the list of things I wanna see right now, anyway." Bucky reaches out to rest his hands on her hips, reeling her in closer to press kisses over the dip of her spine. "Would make you a bet though."

“Do tell,” she says, reaching up to gather her hair messily at the back of her head, baring the entire length of her back for him.

He takes the invitation, kissing up her spine slowly, shifting up to stand so he can press up behind her, walk his fingertips up her sides. 

"Gimme a number," he says, his hands sliding to cover her breasts once more, grinning when her nipples pebble against his palms. "Best you ever had -" He strokes his thumbs over them slowly, turning his face in to nuzzle her neck. "And I'll best it."

A small tremor goes through her body, and another one a moment later. With a third one her head sinks back on his shoulder and he realizes that she’s laughing soundlessly. But not  _ at  _ him, because when her eyes meet his, there’s nothing at all condescending to it.

“That’s how self-confident you are? How did that happen, girls must be falling at your feet -”

"What -" One of his hands falls away from her chest, sliding down her stomach slowly. "Hey, if I just wanted to get off I would've saved my money and did it myself," he says, circling her navel with a fingertip. "Who says it's gotta be confidence, maybe I just like knowing she's getting a kick outta it too -" Bucky can't help but grin at her, letting his hand slip beneath the waistband of her panties, fingertips slipping through her folds to stroke lazily at her clit. "So, you gotta number for me, sugar, or do I gotta just guess -"

A soft, sighed moan is his reply, her eyes falling shut, and when her hips tilt back, her ass presses against his crotch, back arching.

“If you insist…” She bites down on her lower lip around a smile. “Get me to an eight, and I’ll be very,  _ very  _ happy.”

Bucky speeds up his hand, just a little bit, the tips of two fingers stroking over her clit, and nips gently at her shoulder.

“You gotta preference for how you wanna get there, or -"

“No.” She shakes her head on his shoulder, sighing out another soft moan. “Do whatever you want.”

“Lucky for you I’m an overachiever,” he grins against her neck, speeding his hand again, keeping his motion steady, repetitive, listening to the hitch in her breathing. Some girls aren’t easy this way, they need more, but he’s got a feeling she’s not one of them.

“But you tell me -” Bucky lets his right hand massage her breast, gently, rolling her nipple between his fingers. “How am I doing so far?”

“So far, so good,” she smiles, and reaches up and buries her hand in his hair again. Her hips have started meeting his fingers in small, steady rolls, her legs having parted a little more to give him more room.

“Just good?” he chuckles, upping the pressure of his strokes, dipping his fingertips inside her for just a second to wet them, easing the quick, steady circles he’s drawing over her clit, and pinches her nipple gently, listening carefully to see how she reacts.

It’s with a sharp, choked groan.

He noses at her neck, inhaling her perfume again, intoxicated. God, he could just do  _ this  _ all night, press close to her and listen to her fall apart. 

“You want something else?”

“Faster -” It’s a half whisper, breathless, and he can feel the muscles in her body slowly curling tight under her skin. “ _ Oh - _ ”

_ There we go  _ -

Bucky can’t help but press closer to her back, grinning as he presses a kiss to her cheek, speeding up his strokes, the pads of three fingers circling over her clit. He lets his hand drop from her breast, arm looping around her waist to hold her up.

“Come on, sugar, we’re just getting started -"

She just gasps for breath in reply, and turns her head until her face is pressed against the crook of his neck. Her hips cant, push back against his hand strongly, insistently, and then she’s shuddering in his arms, hips pressing down for more and more, a near silent orgasm washing over her.

“What’d I tell you -" And he knows he sounds smug, fingers stroking over her until she finally grips at his wrist, tugging at his hand until he pulls away.

Bucky lets his hands drift to her hips, still half-holding her up, but he gives her a minute to recover, gather herself, just watching, pressing a few soft kisses to her shoulders.

Eventually she lets out a long breath and goes pliant against him, and when she picks up her head from his shoulder again, it’s with a smile.

“Mmh. That was nice,” she comments, sounding happy and relaxed, and steps away from him to finally slip out of her peep toes.

Bucky can’t help but shake his head, chuckling as she goes, and bends down to peel off his socks.

“Just  _ nice  _ still, huh -” he replies, his socks and undershirt joining the pile of his clothes. “Could lie down, then.” He waits for her to turn back to face him again before he sucks his fingers clean. “Nowhere near done with you.”

Her face just lights up when she sees him, there’s no other word for it. And she laughs and lets herself sink back onto the bed, making herself comfortable until she’s propped up on her elbows and her hair is spilling down behind her.

“You  _ did  _ promise we were only getting started. And how about you  _ finally  _ get out of your underwear, seriously -”

_ God  _ she looks good on his bed.

“Alright, alright -" he holds his hands up in mock surrender before finally tugging at his shorts, holding her eyes as he peels them off, taking a very smug, masculine satisfaction from the delighted look on her face. “Yours, too, hate to see ‘em get ruined after all that -"

She smirks a little but reaches for the clips holding her stockings. Her gaze never leaves him though.

“You know, you should keep the pomade out of your hair.” She gives a subtle nod in his direction. “You look better without it.”

“Leave them on,” he cuts across her, already climbing onto the bed, bending down to kiss each of her ankles in turn. “And what’d you mean, I look better without - be all floppy, I’d look fifteen -"

“Come here,” she says, clicking her tongue, and when she reaches for him there’s a sudden familiarity between them that was definitely not there yet a couple of minutes ago. And she doesn’t question his request either.

When she puts her hand in his hair this time, it’s to deliberately comb through it, shake out the rest of the pomade that survived her first few touches. It feels messy when she’s done, but it brings a wide smile to her face.

“There.”

There’s a fondness in the look on her face, but Bucky chalks it up to the lingering remains of her orgasm, lets her play with his hair, nudging up into her hands.

“Y’know, you didn’t  _ have  _ to get in bed with me if you hated my hair so much -"

“I don’t have to do anything. And I love your hair,” she counters easily, immediately starting to caress him upon his wordless request.

He hums at the touch, pressing closer to her, fitting his hips against hers. The slick fabric of her panties feels  _ amazing  _ against his cock, and he spends a few moments just grinding against her, quiet, enjoying the sensations too much to pick up the conversation again. Instead, he lets her stroke his hair as he presses kisses over her chest, nuzzling between her breasts, drawing each of her nipples into his mouth to lick and suck them gently, distracting himself from his own arousal while at the same time driving it, each of the small sounds she makes spiraling straight to his gut.

“You gonna get all shy on me if I wanna go down on you?” He looks up at her from where he’s been nosing at the swell of her breast, contemplating leaving a mark on the pale skin. Some girls are weird about it, he’s not sure why.

But she only smiles wryly, letting her hand brush over the curve of his neck.

“You really think shy is something I do?”

"Not really," Bucky reasons with a shrug, going back to nosing at her breast, flicking his tongue over a nipple again. He can't keep the satisfied smile off his face, lets his shoulders roll up into her touches. Not every day he lands a girl like this, so goddamn  _ hot  _ and still sweet, too, worth the conversation.

Bucky grins wickedly back up at her, drags his teeth over her skin as she watches.

"You wanna sit on my face, then?"

She just smirks back at him, tangles her fingers in his hair and directs him back up to her so that she can press a kiss to his lips.

“Happily. You mind if I sit the other way around and go down on you at the same time?”

"You got yourself a deal." He kisses her again, twice, three times, and lets his palm slide over her slowly, fingertips stroking over the front of her panties.

"Guess it's time to take these off, then," he muses, pushing the fabric aside and trailing his fingers through her folds. She's warm and wet and practically dripping, his fingertips slip over her easily.

He can't wait to taste.

"You want my help?"

“Just get them off,” she returns and playfully bites into his lower lip, her hips tipping back welcomingly. “Seems like you won’t keep your hands off long enough for me to do it myself -”

"What a hardship for you -"

Bucky teases her for a few more moments anyway, sliding a finger inside her slowly and then pulling it all the way out, over and over until she lets out a moan that breaks into a frustrated whine and she pushes at him, one hand planted in the center of his chest.

She's stronger than she looks, Bucky thinks as he makes quick work of removing her panties, unclipping her suspenders and peeling them off her hips until she's left in just her stockings beneath him. And she holds his eyes as he pulls back to admire her body, unashamedly spreading her thighs for him to look, and it's all he can do to not bury his face between them just like that, lick and suck at her wetness until she's shaking.

Instead, he makes good on his offer, shifts to settle on his back beside her, indulging himself with a few strokes of his cock as she considers him, and he waits for her to move.

"Not having second thoughts, are you, sugar -"

In reply she gives his shoulder a soft swat, but there is - still, again - fondness in her eyes.

“You got to look, it’s my turn now. Patience.”

With that her gaze goes back to trailing over his body, unhurriedly, taking in the details of his chest, his arms, his stomach, the V of his hips leading to his cock, even down his thighs. She looks like she imagines running her hands along the same paths, and it’s a quiet, strangely intense moment, only spurring him to speed his touches a little, left hand twisting around the head of his cock on each upward stroke. And he's not in a hurry, he doesn't mind waiting on her, but it feels good to touch himself like this while she watches, her gaze heated, almost like she's memorizing the lines of his body.

She watches him for a few more long moments, and it's only when she moves that he notices the scar over her left hip, healed and pink but still obviously a bullet wound. Bucky doesn’t say anything - he would never, that would be rude - but he wonders vaguely as she pushes herself up onto her knees beside him how a beautiful girl like this gets mixed up in something that ends up like  _ that  _ \- 

Something sharp settles in his chest for a second, a weird, impulsive feeling of protectiveness that he doesn’t have time to dwell on.

Her hand reaches for his first, fingers curling around him to still his strokes, and then she swings one leg over him, graceful as ever. She has to shift only minimally until she’s where she needs to go, where he wants her to be, resting lightly on his chest, his stomach, her arms holding the rest of her weight next to his hips.

The next thing he feels is a soft brushing of an exhale on the head of his cock.

Bucky lets out a groan, lets his hands travel up her thighs slowly until he can fit them around her hips and push at them gently, shifting his head up enough that he can finally bury his face between her thighs. His tongue darts out to taste her, and he presses a moan against her slit, lets his breath ghost over her as she’s doing to him.

It’s a million sensations, all at once, the feeling of her surrounding him, her tongue dragging over his cock slowly just driving him onward, and he presses down on her hips, urging her closer, and fucks her with his tongue in time with her touches.

Oh, and she knows what she’s doing. She doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t hesitate or experiment. Her tongue teases his slit, the rim around his head while her fingers curl around his base, leisurely starting to stroke. Every time he does something she really seems to like she rewards him with a moan vibrating everywhere her mouth is on him, and eventually she simply goes deeper, works him into her throat and swallows around him.

Holy  _ fuck _ .

Bucky has to stop for a minute, his head dropping back, and he hurries to slip his left hand over her hip, tucking in between her thighs to stroke at her clit so he’s not completely abandoning her. A moan works free from his chest without his permission when she hollows her cheeks, sucking him in even deeper, and  _ god _ , it’s that flick of her tongue against him, the deep, appreciative noise she makes -

Nobody ever - she’s skilled, yeah, but  _ damn _ , it’s like she can read his mind, knows  _ exactly  _ what to - 

“Jesus  _ Christ  _ -"

Bucky buries his face against her cunt again, licking and sucking at her folds, his fingers working her clit quickly, because she’s way too good at this, and he’s not gonna let her beat him to it, that’s just not fair.

Only that she has the advantage of having come already just a few minutes ago.

She’s not  _ rushing  _ through it either, and somehow she manages to give him the feeling that she could do this for hours, would want to even, because those moments when she takes him deep into her throat alternate with those where she just noses at him, scatters small kisses on his most sensitive places, fingertips playing appreciatively with his balls while she presses soft moans against his skin. And then, before he can even get impatient, he’s back in her mouth, licking at all the right places, sucking just when he wants her to.

Bucky gives himself a second to mourn, in the back of his mind, that there’s no way he can make this girl just his, because  _ this  _ alone is worth keeping her, she’s incredible and he tells her as much, his head falling back again. Her mouth is amazing, he’s -

His hand stutters, and another broken sound leaves him, he’s - 

“C’mon - fuck -"

He can’t get it out, he’s gotta - 

“M’too close, Red, you can’t - m’gonna -"

And she stops.

It’s with a small gasp that she pulls off, lifts herself off him entirely, and then shifts around until she’s sitting on his stomach, taking a deep breath and dragging a hand through her hair.

“Okay. Let’s take a moment.”

She moves away so quickly, all he can do is rest his hands on her thighs, aware of how fast his breathing is.

“You’re -" Bucky can’t help but grin crookedly up at her. “ _ Wow _ -"

That makes her smile back at him, and there's a hint of pride in it.

"Liked that, hm?"

"Jesus -" Bucky lets his hands slide over her hips appreciatively, concentrates on getting his breathing to even out. He nudges her, licking his lips. "C'mere, let me finish you off -"

"No, no, wait a moment," she says immediately and then laughs, freely and affectionately. Her fingertips wander along the lines of his torso, not moving from her place on his stomach. "Come on, that wouldn't be fair. I don't want to come again until you have at least once."

Bucky can’t help but arch into her touches, relaxing with every moment that passes, no longer teetering on the edge but just floating, instead, and her smile makes it that much sweeter.

“Hey, that’s totally fair -" He chuckles, stroking his thumbs over her inner thighs slowly, delighting in the little shivers that jump across her skin. “You should twice as much at least, c’mon -"

He makes her laugh again, such a beautiful sound, and then she leans over him, close, and kisses him. And it feels soft and fond, so appreciative, her hand caressing his cheek with gentle touches.

"Twice as much, hmm?" she smiles against his lips, steals another kiss. "For that you'd still have to come at least once before I get to the second time."

"Alright, alright." He slides his hands into her hair, pulls her in for another kiss. "Twist my arm -"

"Oh don't make it sound like it's a chore for you," she huffs in amusement, shifting until she's lying entirely on his chest and straddles his hips, trapping his cock between them.

Bucky shushes her, rocking his hips up slowly, letting his hands slide down her back to palm her ass. 

"Could just let me fuck you," he whispers to her, nipping at her neck. "That way we both get what we want."

“Or we could do that, yes,” she murmurs back, trailing the tip of her nose over the side of his face to nuzzle at his hair. “I want to watch you come… you get to choose how.”

"Then I wanna fuck you."

Another roll of his hips, grinding up against her, and Bucky digs his fingers into her skin, enjoying being close to her for a moment. "You gotta get off me, though -" He kisses her shoulder, swatting her hip gently. "Need a rubber, first."

She makes an unhappy sound about that, but eventually, with a sigh, she pushes herself up and off him, folding one leg underneath herself while she sits by his side on the bed.

"Is it true that they're giving them out to you?"

"Yeah," Bucky replies, turning his head to look at her for a moment before he pushes off the bed, wandering over to the small sink in the corner of the room and unzipping his shaving kit. "Along with the rest of our rations," he offers, considering for a moment before pulling out two condoms and zipping the kit again. He figures he can definitely manage at least two tonight, and he'd like for both of them to be inside her. 

He turns back to the bed, holding the foil packets up between two fingers.

"Makes things easier, gotta say," he drops them on the bed and sits down on the edge beside her, turning his head to kiss her shoulder again. "Less to worry about."

She's been watching him the whole time, still is, a look on her face that's hard to interpret.

"Mmhm. I know. They do have their merits," she admits then, that small smirk back, though there's not much edge to it this time.

"Hey, I just offered," he says, leaning over to kiss her. He can't quite read her expression, but he's not going to assume either. "Everything we do is up to you."

"Oh I'm very happy doing anything we might need these for," she smiles back wryly at him, stealing another small kiss. "Use them often?"

Bucky loops his arm around her waist, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Always offer?"

She huffs out a soft laugh against his lips. "Are there some who actually say no?"

"Couple, yeah."

This time she snorts quietly. "Well, you look like you do have good genes -"

Bucky knows a look of terror crosses his face, can't help it. 

"Not like that -"

No way he's leaving some girl behind knocked up with his kid. Jesus. 

"Just - some girls rather I pull out, instead, or they wanna do it in -"

That, to his surprise, makes her laugh, and she draws her head back enough to pull an eyebrow up at him.

"Okay, I see. Girls can still get pregnant from pulling out though. Just so you know."

"I seen all the films," he says, feels his cheeks color. "I just try and be careful, s'all, that's -"

There's a soft, warm tilt to her mouth as she watches him for a moment and then leans over to press a kiss to his cheek.

"If you want to do yourself a favor, don't offer. Always use them until you've found a girl you want to settle down with."

"That's not gonna happen anytime soon, so -"

Right. A girl to settle down with means thinking further ahead than the next week. Not exactly easy when they're shipping out to the eastern front. 

"Guess m'not offering then?"

"No you're not," she agrees and presses her next kiss to his temple. "How about we talk about this again after and concentrate now on what exactly to do with them?"

Bucky leans into the kiss, that strange familiarity settling over him again. 

"I like that idea."

Instead of focusing on it, he pulls at her waist gently, nudging her until she's lying back against the pillows again, and shifts to hover over her instead. 

"Here? Or you'd rather be on top -"

She grins up at him, brushing her hands over the nape of his neck.

"I love being on top. You want me to?"

Bucky lets his head drift forward, a soft hum leaving him. 

"I'd love that," he tells her, and it's true.  He nuzzles at her jaw, smiling again. "Be one hell of a view."

She smiles and presses a kiss to his lips. And then, before he really knows what happened, she's swung them around and he finds himself on his back, with her straddling his lap and smirking down at him.

"Thank you," she says and plucks one of the condoms out of his fingers, unwrapping it nimbly.

"Jesus -" Bucky lets out a huff that's half-chuckle, his hands sliding over her thighs again. "Like a gal who knows what she wants."

"Oh I know exactly what I want."

She smirks at him and reaches for his cock, stroking him to get him back to full hardness.

"Do you, now." He strokes her hips, letting his hands wander over her body again. Her touches pull a soft sound from him, and he doesn't bother holding it back. "Could've fooled me."

"Don't exactly try to hide it, I suppose," she smiles, rolling the condom down over him. And then she reaches between her own legs, biting down on her lower lip as she starts touching herself.

"Oh, come  _ on  _ -"

He groans, his eyes flicking between her face and her hands, debating whether he wants to take over or just watch. She's amazing,  _ God _ , this was such a good decision.

"You always this much of a show off?" 

He finally decides to do both, letting her continue but tangling his fingers with hers, dipping them between her thighs to wet them first. 

"Or is there something special about me?"

"Mmh…"

Their fingers start stroking her together, and she licks over her lips for a short moment.

"Usually when I have sex, the guy likes to watch," she finally says, slowly rolling her hips against their hands, catching his eyes. "But there is something special about you."

Bucky breaks away, shifting his hand to push two fingers inside her slowly. She tightens around them immediately, the grip of her body hot and wet around his fingers, and she keeps circling her clit slowly, holding his eyes every time they go up to her face. 

He thrusts his fingers into her slowly, matching her rhythm, and lets a grin spread over his face. 

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

She doesn't answer for a few long moments, only keeps her gaze locked on his as she slowly rides his fingers, her breaths getting deeper.

And then she says, "You're a good man."

Bucky crooks his fingers deep inside her, lets his other hand reach up to palm one of her breasts. He's not sure why she's got this idea so far in her head, but he isn't sure he's interested in trying to convince her otherwise. 

"I picked you up in a bar for sex, sugar. Not sure where you're getting that."

She huffs out a breath, but it's a little unsteady.

"Are you kidding me? You have a few horrible lines, but you know how to be good to a girl, how to treat her. Believe me, I've known some assholes in my time. And you know a lot about a man if you know how he treats a woman, trust me."

"My lines aren't  _ horrible  _ -"

He waits for the next roll of her hips and slides a third finger inside her. 

Bucky's not sure why she's so dead set on believing that he's so great, but he's going to give up changing her mind. 

"You deserve it," he says simply instead, curling his fingers again. "You'll make somebody real happy, one day."

Something flickers over her face then, for a very brief moment, but her eyelids flutter shut and she sighs at his touch.

"I hope so," is what makes it over her lips.

Bucky isn't sure this conversation is going to get either of them anywhere, so he thrusts his fingers in harder on the next roll of her hips, concentrating on the taut look of pleasure on her face.

"You're fucking gorgeous like this."

"Oh?"

She's sighing out soft breaths, quiet, unsteady gasps, writhing a little on his fingers.

"How about you imagine how gorgeous I could look on your cock?"

"You're gonna make me wait and just imagine it?" He reaches to nudge her hand, tangling his thumb with her fingers and pressing against her clit. "Don't wanna come on it instead?"

This time she moans quietly, hips jerking into his touch.

"I do, God… was just waiting for you -" and then she reaches back and pulls his fingers from her body. And she moves over him, hand holding him in place so she can sink down on him, slow and tight but so easy.

"Oh, so it's  _ my  _ fault -"

Bucky lets out a groan as she slowly slides onto his cock, engulfing him in the hot, velvet grip of her body. And  _ god _ , he's been waiting for this, since she walked into the bar for fuck's sake, and it's even better than he'd hoped it'd be. 

"You feel real good, beautiful," he grits out, hands gripping at her hips to hold her in his lap for a moment. "Look good, too -"

She only smiles at him in thanks this time, but it lights up her face, and she tightens around him deliberately, working her muscles all along his length while she remains still in his lap.

Bucky can't help but buck up into her, still holding her still against his lap, already buried deep inside her. He thrusts in again like that, deep, short strokes, staying mostly seated inside her, and lets his left hand drift to go back to stroking her clit, circling it quickly.

"One now," he grins up at her, his right hand still holding her hips down in his lap, "and then you're gonna ride me until we both come, together."

"Oh God -"

It comes out as half a gasp, half a laugh, and then she bites down on her lip and looks down at him, into his eyes.

"Okay, okay… fine, have your way."

She smiles at him, and then lets her eyes drift shut and her head fall back, moaning quietly and pressing her hips down flush against him, against his hand.

He strokes her in time with small, controlled jerks of his hips, relishing the tight grip of her body around him, watching her with a mix of awe and lust pooling in his gut. Her hands come up to palm her breasts, pinching at her nipples as he watches, and she whines, deep and wordless.

It doesn't take much time at all, now that he's told her that he wants her to, that she shouldn't wait for him now, to just go for it. And it's amazing to see how she works herself to her orgasm between his and her touches and just pressing down against his cock deep inside her.

This time Bucky doesn't just hear and see it, he feels it all around him when she comes.

And she's  _ gorgeous. _

"Jesus, Red -" Bucky fucks into her harder, pressing as deep inside her as he can as she spasms around him, riding his cock as she comes, her whole body gripping him tight. Small, desperate noises leave her, and eventually she slaps his hand away, her palms coming to rest on his stomach to hold herself up. 

She's panting, a fresh wash of heat painting her thighs, her release slicking their skin, and God, she's amazing, she's -

"Had to see that again," Bucky says, half a groan as she clenches around him again,  _ so  _ unfair. "Wanna watch that all night."

She pants out another small breath, and then finally her body relaxes again slowly on top of him.

“Christ,” she lets out and breathes deeply, her hands starting to rub gently over his skin, his stomach and chest. “And you still haven’t let me watch you.”

Bucky hums at her touches, arches into her hands, and lets his palms drift over her thighs for a moment before he relaxes back into the bed, tucking his hands behind his head.

"I think it's finally my turn," he smirks at her, bright and laughing, and rolls his hips up slowly. "You look good up there."

“Glad you appreciate it,” she smirks back at him, immediately moving with him, but then she scrunches up her nose a little. “Do you have any wipes in reach?”

"Uh -"

Bucky looks around, vaguely, but he doesn't keep much by his bed, no reason to, he usually does his jerking off in the shower to avoid -

"Gotta washcloth with my shaving stuff? But -"

“Give me a second,” she says before he has the chance to finish his sentence, and slides off him in a blink.

"Aw, c'mon -"

He can hear her snickering quietly, and she throws him a glance over her shoulder as she wets the washcloth and reaches down to quickly and efficiently wipe at her skin. Only on her thighs though, he notices, not directly between her legs.

After that she folds it the other way and returns to him, wiping away the remains of her second orgasm.

“Would have just gotten dry and sticky, and I hate that,” she explains and chucks the cloth back into the sink with a pretty accurate throw. “At least when I’m planning to sit on you for a while longer,” she adds with a smirk, crawls over him again and eases back onto his cock, still warm and wet where it matters.

"Jesus," Bucky breathes out, unprepared for the sensation again. God, she's so warm and tight around him, her body opening smoothly to take him in deep, rippling around him in the most pleasant ways. 

And then she starts moving in earnest.

She doesn't start off that fast, but there's an intensity to it right away that takes the breath from his lungs. Her eyes are locked on his now, never leaving them as her hips are circling over him, back and forth relentlessly.

He can't even find words to say anything, not yet, just lets another moan work free from his chest. His hands come to cover hers where they're braced on his stomach, and he doesn't even try to match her pace, just relaxes and lets her ride him mercilessly, just as intent on making him come as he had been for her.

"Look how good you are at taking it," he finally grinds out, trying to tease her, fully aware of just how their positions have reversed, how firmly she is in control right now. And he  _ loves  _ that, loves just watching her ride him, hard, using him to get off again but so, so intent on getting him off too.

"Look how good  _ you  _ are," she turns the words around on him, a glint in her eyes he isn't sure if it's hungry or mischievous or triumphant. "And lasting so long, I'm so impressed -"

She reaches for his hands, places them on her hips just so he can feel the motions, feel her rolling them. And then she leans back, braces her hands on his thighs and thrusts herself up and down on his cock, moaning without regard to who might hear her.

"Please, I can go as long as you want," Bucky barks a laugh, hoarse and rough, letting his fingers dig into the creamy skin of her hips. He bites down on his lip, each sound she makes spiraling straight to his gut, hot and desperate, and she's so beautiful, sounds  _ so good _ -

"Talk to me," he whines out, desire beating thick under his skin, "tell me how it feels."

"Really fucking good," she sighs, slowing down for a moment, taking a deep breath just to go again, her hips tilted back. It makes a shudder go through her whole body when she thrusts herself back down.

"God, I'm… Right there, that's… right where I need you…"

Bucky takes the opportunity, planting his feet on the bed and snapping his hips up, thrusting roughly into her once, twice, and then picking up a fast, crashing rhythm. His hands dig into her hips, holding her, helping her move with him while he chases his release, fucking into her as deep and hard as she'd been riding him, driving broken sounds from her with each thrust of his hips.

Just like he’s given himself over to her, she gives herself to him now. Her hands have gone back to bracing herself on his chest now that he’s taken over, and she’s keeping her hips still, just letting him fuck up into her. Her hair is falling around her face, her hands curling on his chest, and she’s squeezing her eyes shut, starting to shudder over him.

"That's it, pretty girl," the words leave him on a groan, his hips stuttering, God, he's  _ so close _ , so - 

He bucks up into her again, once, twice, another searing spike of lust running down his spine, and he bites down on his lip, tugging her hips down hard against his as he comes, so hard spots of light bloom behind his eyes. 

" _ Christ  _ -"

Bucky can only hear her panting unsteadily, whimpering even, but other than that and the maddening way she tightens around him for long, long moments, he doesn’t catch much of her orgasm this time, too far gone from his own.

She sags back against his knees, still breathing heavily, and Bucky cradles her with his thighs, stroking her hips slowly. For a while they're just silent, their breaths the only sound in the room, and Bucky listens carefully for the telltale signs that they were being overheard.

Wouldn't be the first time one of the other men listened in, or vice versa. 

"Wow," he finally says, when he's caught his breath. "Damn."

She sighs quietly and smiles, and Bucky’s pretty damn proud of how blissed out it seems, how wrecked she looks. There’s a healthy flush on her skin, her hair looks wild, and she moves slowly as she finally leans forward and simply lies down on his chest, head pillowed on his shoulder.

“Pretty much.”

He can't help a self-satisfied chuckle, stroking his hands up and down her sides slowly. He can feel her relaxing against him, practically melting. 

"Need that cigarette now," he breathes against her hair, grinning loosely.

"That means you're going to make me move," she mutters against his neck, clearly not a fan of that thought right now.

"Not yet." His hand slides into her hair, fingers twirling through the waves slowly. "Relax."

She just hums quietly, contentedly in reply, staying right where she is. Her breathing is calm and soft now, and her hand is brushing slowly over his shoulder, idly. Down his arm, the soft skin over the crook if it, down to his hand, fingertips caressing his palm.

He lets her touch him, fingers wandering over the back of his left hand, and he watches her trace over each of his knuckles, the scar on his middle finger from that fight when he was sixteen, and he flexes his hand under hers, stretches his fingers and laces theirs together.

She returns the gesture immediately, for a moment giving his hand a small squeeze and then lies still.

“You don’t mind?”

"Not at all," he squeezes her hand back, his fingers dropping from her hair so he can loop his arm around her waist. "It's nice."

Bucky can feel her smile against his skin, and then she finally shifts, raises her head to look down at him, a warm smile on her lips, their hands still entwined.

There’s nothing she really seems to want to say, just watches him for a few long moments. So he leans down to kiss her, instead, indulging in a lingering, soft brush of lips. 

"You don't have to move away, but you should move off," he finally says, nudging her hip gently. "But you can stay."

“Not going to throw me out?”

But she’s grinning when she says it, steals another kiss and then rolls away from him onto her back, stretching out like a cat with a small, very happy noise.

"No way," he grins at her, kisses her shoulder before he pushes himself up to sit, and slips off the bed to cross over to the sink. He eases the condom off and ties it before dropping it in the trash, then wets the washcloth again to clean himself up. 

"Not even that late yet," he says, catching her eye in the small mirror, wringing the cloth out and waiting for the water to warm a bit before he wets it again and steps back over to her. "Let me?"

“I love that you’re so eager for this,” she smiles, hair fanning out around her when she - again - parts her legs for him without hesitation.

"Eager for what?" 

Bucky climbs onto the bed to rest on his stomach between her thighs, nuzzling the inside of her knee. He starts with her inner thighs, wiping gently at her skin, following each touch with a kiss.

“ _ This _ ,” she just says, immediately reaching down to brush her hand through his hair again. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean.”

He hums, nips at the crease of her thigh, wiping between her legs gently. 

"Is it really that weird?"

“I never said it was weird. Just not so common.”

"I just like it," he shrugs, dropping the cloth off the bed and flicking his eyes up to look at her. "But I'll give you a break?"

“A break?” She huffs out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I’m tempted to say you won’t get anything else out of me for the next hour.”

"Aw, what -"

“I can’t believe you,” she smirks, tugging him back up to her. “You’re ready to go again that quickly? How old are you, you can’t be a teenager anymore.”

"Not  _ yet _ , but -" He grins and leans down to kiss her. "Soon? Eventually -"

She watches him, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Will I be able to satisfy you with something else for the next one then?”

"It's not a big deal," he kisses her cheek. "Not like it's a requirement." He shifts over to flop down beside her, tucks his hands behind his head. He feels so relaxed, almost lazy, and doesn't mind just lying here, relishing the afterglow for a while.  "Trust me, m'happy."

Out of the corner of his eye he can see her smile, and while she doesn’t move away from her own position on her back, she reaches over and gently pats his stomach.

“That’s really nice to hear.”

He catches her hand again, brings it up to kiss her knuckles.

"You have to go?"

There’s a small pause, and then she shifts next to him, turns towards him and brushes the tip of her nose along his upper arm.

“No.”

"Stay for a while, then." He bends down to kiss the top of her head. It's not strictly necessary, and he doesn't usually ask girls to stay like this, but there's something about her, about how she makes him feel. "Until you feel like going."

“Okay.”

She says it without hesitation, as if she’s comfortable and happy right where she is and doesn’t want to move either. Her lips brush against his shoulder, just linger there, her hand coming up to rest on his stomach.

It’s quiet for a while, a comfortable, relaxing kind of silence, until she eventually speaks up again.

“You miss home?”

He nudges her calf with his foot, lifting his left hand up to rest lightly on her hip. 

"'Course I do." Bucky's not sure why she's asking, or why he even feels like telling. "Gotta go back to my best friend, though."

“Your best friend?” she prompts without sounding like she’s expecting anything from him.

"Yeah, he's -" Bucky reaches over the side of the bed, blindingly rummaging through the small drawer of the nightstand to pull out the small leather satchel that holds a pouch of tobacco, papers, the silver lighter his father had given him. "He's not well, so -"

She gives him room as he moves, simply props up her head on her hand and watches him.

“Want to talk about that?”

Open and easy, with plenty of room to just shake his head.

"We don't -" Bucky sits up a bit, busies himself rolling a cigarette and offers it to her first. "He just always has been, so -"

She takes it and puts it between her lips, leaning over to catch the flame he lights up for her. After the first drag she passes it over to him again, her eyes lingering on his face, contemplative.

“He’s lucky to have you.”

Bucky takes it back, indulging a long drag before he answers. 

"He wants to be here so bad, so I dunno."

Her eyebrows rise up a little.

“Because of you? Or where exactly is the connection between what I said and ‘so I dunno’ that I’m missing right now?”

She has his accent down to a tee in just that shortest of phrases, and he can't help but laugh.

Bucky reaches to retrieve the cracked coffee mug off his nightstand that he uses for an ashtray, setting it between them before he takes another drag. 

"He's - it's just complicated, I didn't -" He offers her the cigarette again. "I didn't wanna be here, and it's kinda all he wanted."

She takes it back, but all she does for a moment is watch him. Then she sits up, taking another drag while she gets to her feet and over to his window, opening it wide to let fresh air into the room that, admittedly, smells a lot like sex and - now - smoke. After that she lies down on her back next to him again, dragging on the cigarette once more before passing it on.

“Life has a strange way of working out sometimes,” she finally says. “But it’ll be okay in the end.”

Bucky considers that for a moment, flicking ash into the coffee cup. 

"Might not matter, after next week," he decides, taking another long drag. "They're sending us to the front in Italy, so." Another drag, and a very long exhale, obscuring her for just a moment in wisps of smoke, her eyes dancing in the dim light. "Probably doesn't."

“Why should it not matter?” she returns, eyes unblinking as she looks back at him. “Especially for where you’re going.”

"Because I probably won't be back," Bucky offers simply, holding out the cigarette for her. "That's all."

She takes it, but it’s with a small, soft huff. There’s nothing left of a smile on her lips now.

“And what makes you think that?”

"Just - odds aren't exactly in our favor, s'all."

Bucky watches her benignly, wondering how he got into this conversation. He's not sure how to get out.

He watches her let out a curling wisp of smoke, her eyes finally returning to him.

“Hard to argue with a man dead set on the thought that he’s got no more than a couple of weeks to live.”

"Didn't say that."

Well, yes he did, but Bucky's not quite ready to admit it out loud, not that plainly.

"So maybe I do come back, who knows."

He turns onto his side to face her, resting his head on his fist.

"You wanna see me again if I did?"

He might be wrong, but he thinks the question makes the line of her lips a little softer.

“Is that what you want?”

"Yeah." He takes the cigarette from her, leans in to steal a kiss. "Why not, right?"

Now it’s obvious to see, the way the corners of her mouth turn up as she regards him.

“Right. Have lots of celebratory sex when the war’s over?”

Bucky can't help laughing at that, takes another drag and flops onto his back again. 

"That a promise?"

She chuckles along with him and rolls onto her stomach to put her head down on her arms, watching him through the few red strands of hair that come sliding down.

“Yes, darling, you got yourself a promise.”

"Just bought yourself an Allied victory, sweetheart." Bucky puts the cigarette out between them, moving the mug back to rest on the night table. He shifts over to nuzzle the back of her shoulder blade, grinning loosely at her when she peeks at him through her hair. "That mouth of yours alone is worth living through whatever they're gonna throw at us."

A smile spreads on her face, quick and soft, and she never looks away from his eyes.

“If that’s what’s going to lure you back, I won’t complain.”

Bucky doesn't have a reply, so he just pushes up to kiss her, settling himself against her back, and she cranes her head back, tilts it until he can brush the hair out of their way and press their lips together.

It’s ridiculously easy to kiss her, almost like there are no bumps they have to smooth out while getting used to each other. So he keeps doing it, lets his hand slide into her hair, kisses her again, and again, tasting smoke and the last bit of mint and rum when he licks into her mouth.

They have sex like this, later, with her thighs spread invitingly and the whole of her body stretched out in front of him, pale skin, amazing curves, blood red hair spilling down her back.

Afterward, once they're cleaned up again, she makes no effort to move or get dressed, just accepts another cigarette from him and climbs unceremoniously into his lap when he leans back to sit against the headboard. He strokes her back, lets his palm slide appreciatively over her stockings where they have slid down to puddle around her knees.

She shifts a little, watching his hand, her head leaning lightly against his shoulder.

When she speaks again, it’s a little sudden, a little out of the blue.

“What about before you got drafted? Didn’t you have a girl then?”

"No," he says, letting his cheek rest on her hair. "Nobody special."

“Why not? Seriously?”

"I dunno," Bucky offers, reaches for the cigarette when she offers it and finishes it off, looping his arm around her waist to bring her with him as he leans over to put it out it the mug. "Just - never had time? I was busy, working, and taking care of - dunno, girls take work, and time, and I didn't really -"

His sentence tapers off into nothing, but she seems alright pondering that for a while. It’s hard to say what she thinks though, and she doesn’t ask any further than that.

"Besides -"

And he's not sure why he's continuing, why he feels so content and comfortable sharing with her, why he still feels warm and pliant even now, the alcohol and the flush of his orgasms long since worn off.

"I don't think I've met her yet? I guess?"

But at least she feels the same against him, relaxed and warm. She shifts until she can lean back against his chest, her hand slowly caressing his knee.

"Well, I know how that is," she sighs, but there's a small smile on her lips as well. "But you will."

He loops his arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"Hey, if you - technically we're not supposed to have overnight guests, but if you wanna stay for -"

That makes her turn her head back to glance up at him, eyebrows going up a little.

"For the night?"

"Only if you want," he counters, not quite meeting her eyes, busying himself repacking the cigarette papers and tobacco into their leather pouch. "Don't have to, I can walk you home, if you'd rather -"

She chuckles quietly, tilting her head up to place a kiss on his jaw.

"I do want."

Oh, wow. 

"Okay, then -" 

Bucky looks down to smile at her, brightly, his other arm looping around her as well.

He can't explain it, why he wants this, except that she's the most comforting thing he's known since he first set foot in Europe.

"You want something to wear? I have an undershirt that might -"

"That sounds lovely," she agrees, but instead of moving away, her arms come up to cover his around her, entwining their hands. "There's no one going to come knocking until sunrise?"

"Reveille is at 0600, so -"

He doesn't even question it anymore, why he wants to nuzzle closer to her, nudge his nose against her cheek, twine their fingers together at her waist. Something about her calls to him in a way that he can't even explain, and the pull is too delicious, too strong to question. 

"Not until a bit after sunrise."

"That's very manageable," she smiles, trailing her lips over his face, wherever he lets her reach. "I promise I won’t get you in any trouble."

"I wasn't worried." He leans into her kisses, hooking his chin over her shoulder. "But thank you."

For everything.

"There's really nothing to thank me for." She places her next kiss on his temple, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. He can feel her smiling against his skin. "Now, are you comfortable sharing your toothbrush?"

"Have an extra I nicked from the commissary," he replies, chuckling quietly and leaning into the kiss, releasing his arms when she shifts to move off his lap. He doesn't offer that he did it almost a month ago, and that no one's actually stayed long enough to need it. "In my shaving kit, at the bottom."

She thanks him and follows the directions, going through his meagre bathroom utensils like someone who has no trouble adjusting quickly, still naked, still entirely comfortable.

So Bucky indulges, just watching her, whistling when she catches his eye in the small mirror above the sink.

He hasn't felt this, before, this -

_ Someday _ , it feels like,  _ always _ , maybe,  _ who knows _ or  _ why not _ or  _ one day, just hang on _ , all those things, those homesick, fluttery feelings beating like wings deep inside his chest, his whole body almost sighing, just -

_ Ah, so there you are. _

He watches her pluck his undershirt from the floor and pull it on, easy and comfortable, and he waits for her on the bed, stealing another kiss before he takes his turn to brush his teeth, offering her his small comb for her hair.

When she brushes it out, the curls become soft waves, and when she waits for him in bed, watching, curled up right there, she doesn't really look like she's in a military base in a stranger's bed.

So he hurries to pull on a new pair of shorts, haphazardly hanging his uniform up so hopefully the worst of the wrinkles will be gone come morning, because that same lonesome feeling in his chest that says she's familiar wants to be closer to her again, and he can't push it back. 

Once he climbs back into bed, he finds himself reaching for her again, but not for a kiss, just for a long series of caresses, his fingers pushing through her hair, her hands sliding over his shoulders, and before he's certain who moves them first he's lying curled beside her, his head pillowed on her chest.

She's holding him, her arms wrapped tenderly around his shoulders. One hand is in his hair, caressing softly, slowly, as if there's nothing else in the world she has to do, nothing that would be more important.

"I'm very glad I got to meet you, James," she murmurs above him when he's already so comfortable that his thoughts are sluggish and his mind is slow.

He leans into her hand in his hair, curling closer to her, and there’s something about her tone, the inflection in her voice, but he can’t grasp it, sleep already pulling at the edges of his vision. His arms loop around her waist, bringing her even closer, and he can’t quite hold back a yawn.

“Thank you for staying,” is what he finally says, after trying to form several unsuccessful thank yous in his head.

"Sshh, it's alright," she replies softly, kisses the top of his head, still caressing him, never stopping. "I promise you - Listen to me."

Her voice isn't much more than a whisper now, and Bucky is drifting.

"I don't need you to believe me, but I need you to remember this. Everything will be alright in the end." She lets out a soft, small breath, her arms around him tightening a little. "If it's not alright, it's not the end."

She presses more kisses to his hair, holding him close, and before he can think of what to reply Bucky’s falling, sleep taking him quickly, lulled by the soft sound of her voice, her reassuring words, the gentle rhythm of her fingers combing through his hair.

He dreams of a quiet hotel room, windows open wide, the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the blue darkness just outside. The shower’s running, water drumming against the tiles, but he can’t see who’s just stepped into the bathroom, his only clues a flick of scarlet hair and the clothes scattered about the small room, and when he wakes up it takes him seconds, heartbeats, to realize that the sound is the rain beating against the tin roof above him.

And she’s gone.

Is she?  _ Was  _ she - 

Bucky sits up, and looking around his small room, and everything is in order, nothing out of place.

There are no traces of her anywhere. Her clothes are gone, the pins from the floor, the window is closed, no lingering smell of perfume or sex or smoke or anything, really. The toothbrush she used is nowhere to be seen, there's not even a single red hair on his pillow.

But Bucky thinks he can remember her voice in his ear, her hand in his hair, a whispered, "I'll find you when it's all over. I'll be there."

Or maybe he just imagined it, imagined  _ her _ , maybe all of it was just a dream, a glorious one, sweet and necessary, before he goes on to Italy, to uncertainty, to war, to death.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it  _ wasn’t _ .

And he holds that, close, deep, deep inside in the same place he keeps his mother’s smile, Steve’s laugh, Becca’s little hand inside his at the train station, all written across his heart, inside his chest, hidden under his dog tags and his uniform, quiet and safe, the place he goes when he can’t bear the noise any longer.

_ It’s not the end _ , shivering down his spine as he stands inside a trench that holds more blood than rain, his boots slowly filling.

_ It’s not the end _ , beating under his skin, thick and hot under the flood lights in Zola’s lab.

_ It’s not the end _ , beaming out of Steve’s smile, wrapped inside the new strength in his hands as he rips the leather restraints apart.

_ It’s not the end _ , whistling on the frigid wind as he falls.

_ It’s not the end _ , a flicker of scarlet hair reflected in the corner of his eye every time he sees the star, the glint of red he always has to remind himself isn’t what he thinks it is, until it  _ is _ .

She does find him. She does. She does. She does.

And it is not the end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, that wait was not supposed to be as long as this. I really hope you still remember this little story and enjoy the second part!

Her fingers ache. Natalia stares down at them, wills the pain in her knuckles away, putting it into one compartment in her mind and shutting it off.

It's not so easy with the other things.

The rain is cold where it drips onto her head, trickles down into the back of her suit. Steady.  _ Cold _ . It washes away the blood on her knuckles, but it's about the only good thing it does for her.

Her head is  _ pounding _ , and that one isn't so easy to lock away. Just like the tremor that has started in her hands, has her whole body in its grip now. Making her so weak that she can't get herself up to her feet again.

She's lightheaded. Short strands of hair hanging into her forehead, steady drops of water running from them.

Natalia withdraws further, presses back against the cold stone of the building behind her. Some old factory building near the railway lines.

She meant to get  _ inside _ , but she couldn't pull herself up onto the flight of industrial stairs anymore. Strength leaving her limbs too quickly.

It's frightening.  _ Scary _ . She's never sick, never, but this stuff -

She sucks in a shuddering breath and tucks the bag closer against her side.

It was supposed to be simple. In and out, her cover was spotless. She watched long enough to know every pattern, every change of patrols, had enough intel for all the codes she needed. And it went so well, the vials all secured, until -

Well. Humans are unpredictable after all, and that led to an unfavorable chain of events that Natalia had to fight herself out of.

And one of the vials shattered, the fluid scattering, and Natalia knew she was in trouble.

She'll still be able to deliver the rest to her handlers, but this doesn't exactly make the thought of returning easier.

This was what she'd  _ wanted _ . She's worked her whole life for this, she's  _ survived  _ for this, and yet, since she has graduated one year ago, has become the Black Widow, the desire to crawl out of her own skin has grown stronger and stronger.

It's been one year and they're running her into the ground, mission after mission. And she doesn't even know what she's looking for, what she's expecting, what's  _ missing _ , but it's not -

It's not this. And now whatever was in that vial, whatever biochemical hazard, is hitting her like she can't even remember ever having been sick so suddenly, so violently, and for a moment she wonders if she's simply going to die.

Natalia takes a shuddering breath and lets her head sink back against the rough stone, closing her eyes as the rain continues to soak her through and through.

She has no idea how long she sits there.

She hears footsteps, after a long, long while, and she finds she doesn't even have the strength to open her eyes, to assess the threat, her body so weak she can only stay still, hoping that whatever is approaching will pass her by, or that death will be quick. 

The footsteps come to a halt just beside her, and Natalia flinches away from the attack she's expecting, the one that never comes. 

She finally forces her eyes open when she feels the weight of a heavy coat being eased over her shoulders, surprise making her twitch back a little.

Natalia forces her eyes to focus and the first thought that flickers through her mind is, 'I know you.'

Only she doesn't. She's never seen the man before who's looking back at her, who draped the coat over her front, and it's still warm enough that it sucks a bit of the cold from her body.

If this is just a passing stranger who is somehow out at this time, in this weather, and spotted her, Natalia knows her best bet is to play the runaway, maybe the punk kid that doesn't want to or can't go home or doesn't have one to begin with. She knows she looks the part, young enough, and with the hair she had some random hairdresser chop of in a fit half a year ago and kept short ever since, because she has everything she worked for and yet  _ nothing feels right _ .

Natalia finally had enough autonomy over that much at least, so her hair, the long red curls, were the first thing that had to go.

She tries to remember what country she's in. Her head is hurting so much, it's so hard to think.

… Poland. Thank God. If she concentrates, she can scrape together enough of that.

<"Who are you?"> Natalia manages to get past her trembling lips, in Polish. God, it's so hard to keep him in her focus.

<"A friend,"> he replies, in fluid Russian, and she can't spare the energy to work out just how he knew. <"You need to get out of the rain,"> he continues, peeling off his gloves next and offering them to her, holding them out pointedly until she takes them. They're much too large, but the warmth helps ease some of the ache in her knuckles.

<"I'm okay,"> Natalia mumbles on instinct, because the last, the very last thing she's going to do is admit that she can't even get to her feet right now.

She feels so exposed, so goddamn vulnerable.

The next thing he does surprises her. 

He bends down to kneel beside her on the wet concrete, his hand held out but not touching her, and she can't read his face, not least because she can't seem to make her eyes focus. 

<"I'll take you, if you want.">

Natalia can't help that she cringes back a little. Maybe it doesn't even matter, any girl would in her position. Her lids flutter as she tries to keep her eyes open, and he's becoming blurry in her sight, and her heart is beating too quickly.

Fuck, no, fuck, she can't, what if he's… what if…

Natalia comes to inside somewhere, a bedroom, small but tidy, minutes or hours or days later. 

Her head isn't throbbing any longer, and her vision doesn't slide in and out of focus when she finally opens her eyes, taking in the surroundings, the soft bed she's tucked into, the warmth, the clean bandages on her knuckles, the smell of food wafting from the small kitchen just outside the door of the bedroom she's been -  sleeping? - in.

She has no idea where she is, or how she got here.

‘This is a dream,’ is the first conclusion Natalia comes to. This is, frankly, too  _ ridiculous  _ to be real. It’s a dream.

It’s that thought that makes it easier to go with this. Because otherwise, the complete loss of control right here would be terrifying. She doesn’t know who that man is, she doesn’t know where she is, what happened, how much time passed, what’s going to happen now. Nothing at all.

Pushing the blanket away reveals that there are sweatpants on her she’s never seen before, though at least she’s still in her own underwear. But the thought of some stranger undressing her while she was unconscious makes something freeze in her insides, so Natalia decides not to think too much about it.

A dream. A dream. Just a dream.

Still, she needs to find out where she is and who’s here with her - in case it’s not.

Her legs are shaky when Natalia pushes to her feet, and she does feel a little dizzy again for a moment, but she blinks quickly and forces her body to steady itself. It takes only a very brief look around the room to find her uniform spread out on a chair, as if to dry, and - Natalia startles a little at that - all her weapons in a pile just on top of it.

She just stares at them for a few long moments, her jaw clenching. Picks up her knife, her gun, checks if the bullets are still where they’re supposed to be and if they look untempered with. Pushes both into the back and side of the sweatpants that she can, thankfully, pull tighter around her waist.

And then she follows the smell of food, the soft noise from the kitchen, without making a sound.

When he comes into her view again, his back is to her, and he's standing in front of the stove. There are a few open cans on the counter beside him, a dented tin pot simmering on the stovetop.

Still the same man. Short dark hair, broad shoulders, muscular, jeans and a t-shirt. Regular. Normal.

Natalia watches him for a moment, tense as a bowstring. Reminding herself that even with the front she decided was the best to put on, she has every right to be wary.

_ Every  _ fucking right.

<"Are you hungry?"> he asks her, keeping his back turned, not looking at her but rather leaving his attention on the pot he's slowly stirring.

_ Not  _ normal. Not fucking normal, no one can hear her sneak up when her mind is set on exactly that.

Except… if her shaky legs still don’t work entirely as they should…

Natalia pushes the thought away and draws her gun, lets the safety click as a reply.

<” _ Who are you _ ?”>

He holds his hands up immediately, only stopping to click off the gas of the stove. 

<"Someone safe,"> he replies, still not turning to face her.

<“Oh yeah? That’s a shit answer,”> Natalia spits out and hates, hates,  _ hates  _ how she has to reach out and steady herself on the doorframe behind her because her legs are starting to shake.

He turns to face her, finally, and his face is blank, purposefully empty of expression.

<"You don't have to trust me. But I know the people you work for."> He keeps his hands up, but takes a half-step toward her. <"You need to sit down.">

<“I need to do fuck all.  _ You  _ need to give me one good reason why I should trust  _ anything  _ you say, especially if you know who I work for.”>

But her hand is starting to tremble too now, even if not enough yet to become visible. But she grips her gun more tightly. Her heart is starting to beat too fast again.

<"Because I used to work for them, too.">

He doesn't move again, just holds her eyes, his expression benign. 

<"Special operations, I visited the bases in Siberia before the Union fell. The abandoned prison. I never saw the mansion where they train the Widows, but I heard them speak of it.">

All familiar places, secret ones. Not something just anyone would know. 

<"Before your time.">

He finally moves again, another small step. 

<"Good enough?">

Natalia is breathing too fast, but she keeps them flat and quiet. She stares at him for a few long moments, blinks back the oncoming dizziness.

<“And why does that make you a friend?”>

<"It doesn't,"> he offers, eyes flicking over her face. <"But I also know you've either already decided to kill me, or to trust me, they would've beaten hesitation out of you a very long time ago.">

Damn him.

She wants to chalk it up to two things: the half conviction that this still isn’t real, and that even though she felt better when she woke up, her body’s betraying her again so quickly. Her hand is shaking hard enough now that she won’t be able to guarantee a hit anymore even if she did decide to pull the trigger now, so after another moment, she lowers it, still staring at him.

It’s not hesitation, not really, and she sure as hell doesn’t  _ trust  _ him. It’s just -

Why would he help her like this? What’s his objective, what can he get out of her, of this? She wants to know what the hell is going on, and she won’t if she pulls that trigger.

<"Sit down,"> he says again, his voice firmer than it has been before, and Natalia listens to him, if for no other reason than she's not quite sure how much longer she can hold herself up. She settles in one of the chairs at the small, beaten-up kitchen table and rests her gun on the surface, barrel still pointed at him. Never letting him leave her sight.

It’s better, once her legs don’t have to carry her weight anymore.

<“Why are you helping me?”>

<"Because somebody helped me, once,"> he offers succinctly, crossing back over to the stove and returning with a steaming bowl of soup and settling it in front of her. <"Eat, you were out for almost a full day. That's why you're dizzy.">

<“I don’t get dizzy from not eating for a day,”> she replies, but the scent of the soup makes her mouth water instantly.

Natalia swallows and keeps her stare fixed on him.

<“So what, someone helped you once upon a time. What does that have to do with me? I would have been fine.”>

He crosses the kitchen again, returning with a glass of water, and he sets that in front of her too before he steps back to lean against the kitchen's small counter, crossing his arms. Natalia could swear she hears the faintest of metallic noises when he does. 

<"I'm sure you would have, you seemed mindful enough to give yourself the antidote.">

An expression finally crosses his face, almost a smirk, but it looks satisfied, too, relieved, too many things for her still-hazy mind to read. 

<"Still a vial in the pouch, too, take all of it back with you and they'll never suspect.">

For a few long moments, Natalia simply keeps staring at him, her mind painfully blank.

She…  _ can’t _ , she can’t do this, can’t make her mind think in the direction she needs it to go. She needs to read him, to figure out why he’s here, what his play is. She needs to ask so many questions and try to figure out how much of what he says is the truth. She needs to -

But she can’t, her brain simply isn’t cooperating, and she’s  _ so tired _ again. Too tired to put on any more masks, figure out any tactics she could use to get all of this out of him.

Well, fuck it. If he wanted to kill her, he’d have had plenty of opportunity. And it’s not like the feeling that her life has somehow been shot to hell anyway can get any worse. This is just one more thing she doesn’t get, like screaming questions into an empty, soundproof room.

There have been so many of those, and not one answer.

Natalia finally drops her gaze and pulls the soup over to start eating.

He busies himself cleaning up the small kitchen, putting a kettle on, generally leaving them in silence and ignoring her, even if she notices his eyes flicking over to her every few minutes, an unreadable look on his face.

It’s only a few minutes until she can’t stand it any longer.

<“What?”> Natalia just asks, aware that it sounds more weary than sharp.

Almost to her surprise, he sighs, turning to face her fully, something flickering over his face that she could almost call concern. 

<"You're alright?">

<“Told you I am,”> she says, even though she wants to laugh at herself. She doesn’t even know what her baseline for alright is. <“Still don’t see what it matters to you.”>

He seems to come to a decision about something, and appears to fight himself for several moments before he crosses the kitchen in three quick strides. Natalia tenses, braced for the attack she's still secretly anticipating, but he doesn't strike her, just drops down to his knees beside her chair and gathers her up in his arms, holding her gently but closely to his chest.

In the very first moment, Natalia quietly goes into a panic. Her body lashes out on instinct, but when she gasps for a breath to launch an actual, thought-out attack, she’s hit with a scent that feels like a wave crashing down on her and suddenly she’s drowning.

He doesn't move, either, absorbs her half-hearted hit at his ribs and just holds her, his arms looped around her waist, his face tucked against her shoulder.

Dream. Dream dream dream.

There's no other explanation. Nothing that could tell her why her body is refusing to listen to her so entirely, why she can't move away from this stranger who is too close without warning,  _ way too close _ , too intimate, touches her in a way that would make her break any man's fucking hand.

She can't breathe.

He still doesn't move, doesn't speak, just  _ holds  _ her, like she's -

Like no one ever has. 

Not that she can remember.

When her eyes fall shut without her own doing, it suddenly gets easier. Suddenly she can forget that she doesn't know who he is, where she is,  _ why  _ she's here… she can forget herself. And she  _ does _ . There's darkness and warmth and such aching familiarity that's so confusing it's dizzying her. Her mind simply shuts down and Natalia finds herself turning into the body that's pressing against hers, sucking in breaths, hiding herself from every possibility this could backfire on her, from the whole world.

It's all instinct now. And it feels so good she wants to  _ cry _ .

He shushes her quietly, and she doesn't realize he's moving until one of his arms loops beneath her knees, lifting her from her seat effortlessly and moving to sit himself. He settles her carefully in his lap, holding her gently like she's some precious, delicate thing, and if it didn't feel so magically, amazingly good she'd be bewildered.

But she's not ready to face what's happening here. She's not ready to open her eyes again, to even acknowledge the place she's in. She wants to stay in this kind of limbo where, for some reason, this is okay, that she's being held, and that her body's shaking from it.

She would have sworn any oath that this is nothing she would ever need. Not even a little.

And that she finds herself pressing her face against his neck, that she's falling apart right there is scarier than any mission, any test anyone has ever thrown at her.

One of his hands come to rub her back slowly, gently working out the tension held there, and even that is almost too much.

<"Who are you?"> Natalia hears her own voice, weak and unsteady, pleading, a hitch in her breath that sounds a bit like a sob. <"What are you  _ doing  _ to me…?">

She can't pull her face away from his neck, just curls in closer, and one of her hands comes up to cling at the front of his shirt. 

<"You're safe, here,"> is what he says, an unsatisfactory answer, but somehow one she still believes.

She doesn't know why, but somehow she knows he isn't going to do her any harm.

Somehow she knows, but that still doesn't mean she doesn't have to ask.

<" _ How? _ ">

She's not safe. She's  _ never  _ safe. And yet -

<"Why…?">

She's not even surprised to feel his lips brush her hair, dropping a soft, gentle kiss to the top of her head. 

<"You don't have to believe me, but I want to tell you something, alright?">

Natalia doesn't even think there's anything she can believe at all right now. Even though she asked. Even though she's asking now.

<"Okay…?">

<"It won't always be like this,"> he says simply, his arms tightening around her, cradling her against his chest. <"You won't always be scared, they won't always be watching, and you will be safe, and sound, and secure, and adored.">

He presses another kiss to her hair, rocking her gently like one would a child, and Natalia lets him, lets his words sink in even though she's not sure she can dare to even consider them. 

<"Someday. Someday soon.">

<"I'm not scared,"> Natalia whispers, but it's nothing more than an instinct, something she has to remind herself of for it to stay true.

It's that feeling that there's something so wrong that she can't explain, that she doesn't understand why it's there, but she just can't shake it off. The nightmares she has she can't remember, only knows that they wake her up feeling sick to the stomach.

And his words suddenly make her wonder how long it's going to be like this. How long she can  _ do  _ this.

_ You will be safe, and sound, and secure, and adored. _

For all that she knows what those words are supposed to mean, Natalia has no idea what any of them feel like. None whatsoever.

Only that… maybe… right here, this does feel like  _ someday _ .

He's nothing but a ghost in a dream, Natalia is so sure that it can't be anything but that. This couldn't be happening outside of any dream, not by any stretch of the imaginable. But if this isn't real, if  _ he  _ isn't real, then it doesn't matter, and she can let the tears escape that burn behind her eyelids, then she can shift against him and wrap her arms around him to hold on to this feeling for as long as she can. That utopian promise.

He lets her cling to him, holding her close silently, sweetly, pressing kisses to her hair, rubbing her back for so long Natalia loses track of time. Eventually, she feels him moving, but only to lift her carefully, cradling her as he walks them back toward the small bedroom and carries her into bed, letting her curl around him beneath the sheets.

Natalia doesn’t open her eyes again. She doesn’t want the real world to come back. Everything she wants is that warmth and the scent that’s surrounding her now, cradling her, a safety net that’s so heart-wrenchingly new but that, somehow, some instinct of her can just let herself fall into without distrust.

She doesn’t know how or why, but at this point she doesn’t care anymore either.

And she drifts off like that, to the feeling of a thumb brushing small, gentle circles over the nape of her neck, over the short stubble of hair she keeps cutting off so relentlessly there and at the sides. When his fingers go up to comb through the longer strands above, she’s out like a light.

Natalia jerks awake to the sound of a car honking somewhere in the distance. Her gaze hastily takes in her surroundings, the twilight of dawn, the rough stone against her back. The rain stopped, and the strands of hair fallen into her eyes have dried. When she reaches up to comb them back instinctively, she sees that the wounds over her knuckles have closed, look clean and on a good way to healing effortlessly. She can feel the weight of all her weapons on her, the pouch with the vials against her hip.

The coat is still covering her, warm and heavy, and Natalia is a little stunned.

She’s hungry and thirsty, her mouth dry, but the terrible dizziness, the heaviness in her limbs is gone, and her senses are clear and focussed. She remembers the man, how he stopped by her and draped the coat over her against the rain, against the cold. Natalia can’t believe he just left it with her when he went - home, probably.

Whatever biochemical hazard was raging a war on her body must have made her slip into unconsciousness, and he must have been kind enough to just leave her there. And her mind, muddled with sickness, gave her the illusion of some safe place to retreat to while her body fought back, recovered.

Natalia slowly checks the pouch with the vials while taking deep, steadying breaths. She doesn’t know how to feel. That peaceful feeling from the dream is lingering, but it’s scary too, because if this is what her mind came up with, then on some deep, subconscious level it must be something she - wants? Needs?

But she can’t, she has to get back to her handlers to deliver the package, fulfil her mission.  _ That’s  _ what she needs, not some naive dream of someone to - to  _ hold  _ her.

Natalia wants to scoff at herself, but finds that she can’t. Because deny it as she might, this kind of safety is like a siren’s call, and it’s tugging painfully at her heart, whispering,  _ this is what’s wrong, what’s been wrong all along _ .

It doesn’t make sense. She has grown up, has been trained all those years for the life she’s leading right now, she has been trained  _ not  _ to need this. So why does she still hurt like this?

She stares down at the vials, and for the first time Natalia’s asking herself what they’re going to do with this. She almost never gets sick, and if she does, it’s just mild symptoms she can work through without any trouble. But this - this took her out completely.

She wonders what it might do to other people.

Natalia knows that she has to report back. Yet what she finds herself doing is getting to her feet, wrapping herself into the coat, and letting her feet carry her off. Just walking. Wondering. Letting everything, her dream, her mission, her past days and weeks and months settle in her mind, letting questions arise she hasn’t dared asking herself.

It takes a few hours. It takes until the sun is already circling down from its highest point again, some time in the afternoon.

Natalia knows what she  _ should  _ do. But she finally also knows that it’s not what she wants to do.

_ They won’t always be watching. _

When she leaves Warshaw, all the vials are broken, not going to harm anyone, and Natalia doesn’t look back. She has learned to vanish from anyone’s radar, and she’s tired of working for them. Of them always waiting, always watching. Natalia’s surprising herself with how little loyalty she feels to the program that made her, to the KGB, to Department X, to her handlers. With how easy this is, now that the decision has been made.

It feels like a weight is being lifted off her shoulders. Maybe it’s that easy, and it makes so much more sense like this, in her own head: she doesn’t need someone to hold her. She just needs to be free.

And right now, for the very first time in her life, she is.


	3. Chapter 3

It's all over with a yanking pull, like being jerked awake from a very good dream, and everything mixes together in darkness and color for several long moments that feel like hours and he's falling. Oh god, he hates this feeling, this -

Bucky's boots hit the ground and bright light presses against his closed eyes, a rush of noise filling the silence, traffic, sirens, people yelling -

"Cap? Buck, c'mon -"

Sam's voice crackles through his earpiece, and Bucky finally forces his eyes open to look up, at Sam circling above, skirted by Vision and Wanda, hovering nearby with the brightest, most relieved smile on her face.

"Don't suppose any of you can tell me what the hell that thing just was?" Bucky finds his voice, finally, but he doesn't really care to wait for the answer, because his gaze has already dropped back to street level, looking for the one person -

<"Tasha? Tashka, where -"> The whole street seems to have been rocked by some kind of explosion, magical if he had to guess, but the source is nowhere to be found right now, but where is - "Natalia?"

Bucky's head spins around, where is she, he has to be sure she's -

Scarlet fills his vision and he can see her smiling even before he rushes over to her, his body carrying him in a jog before he even needed to ask it to. Something warm swells large in his chest, and it makes his breathing feel tight. "You're alright? Talia - did you - were you -"

“I’m fine, just fine,” she replies, always answering his first, most important question before anything else, and her hands come up to frame his face, fingers gentle and familiar on his cheeks.

It takes his brain a moment to catch up. That her hair is loose now, freely bouncing waves instead of the ponytail she entered the battle with. That there are traces of makeup around her eyes.

He leans into her hands, the familiar touch, and lets his eyes travel down her body to be sure, no blood, nothing - staining the fabric of the - dark green dress -

And suddenly everything clicks into place.

"It was _you_?"

Bucky can't believe it, can't get a grasp on the fact that all those years ago, the night he'd sworn to himself was a dream, the whispered words that held him together more than he'd ever thought possible, more than he'd ever want to admit, it was - all of it was -

"It _was_ you, you were -"

“Yes,” Natasha whispers, caresses his cheeks, and the look in her eyes, the expression on her face is so warm, so full of love. “I think it just - I don’t know, it’s where I ended up, and when I realized, I had to come find you -”

"And I acted like a jerk," he hears the crack in his own voice, the grin, the emotion welling up that he's trying so hard to stop. God, if she - she's saved his life more times than he can count, more times than he's ever given her credit for, he owes her _so much_ \- "Showed you - a good time? A-at least?"

Something cracks over her face that’s both affectionate and a little heart-breaking, and with a small, sighed “Oh” she tilts her head up to press soft kisses to the corners of his mouth.

“James, don’t be ridiculous. You remember it all?”

He can't hold it back any longer, doesn't want to, so instead of answering Bucky just wraps his arms around her waist, gathering her in as close as he can, and kisses her.

He doesn't care who sees or doesn't, doesn't care about the hoot Wilson lets out in his ear, doesn't care about _anything_ except making sure that she knows _exactly_ how important she is to him, how perfect, how necessary, how special. <"I love you.">

Natasha steps closer to him, right into his arms, body pressed gently against his own. And the feeling of that fabric under his hands, the color, the sight of her in it brings back those memories so vividly, as if they’ve never been gone.

She brushes her nose against his, smiles at him, one hand still on his cheek to let her thumb brush back and forth. <“I’m so, so glad this happened, that I was - sent back, and I got to -”>

<"You saved my life,"> he tells her, resolutely, truly, without a trace of hesitation. <"I needed you, then. I didn't even know it.">

A myriad of emotions flicker over her face again, and Natasha bites down on her lip and leans her forehead against his. The others are quiet now, have given them space, must have realized that there’s something important going on here. <“I just hoped - I couldn’t say anything, I don’t know what it would have changed, but I had to see you. I just hoped maybe I could… give you something…”>

<"You did."> He means it, more than he's certain he could ever put into words. So he kisses her again, presses his lips to her forehead. <"I did, too. Tried to.">

Natasha only hums quietly, gently for a moment, nestling close to him. And then he can feel the change in her body, and she draws away again, looks up at him.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

"I - you weren't the only one, I was sent back, too, and I -" He looks down at her, smiling, and for the briefest of moments she looks so, so young again. "I tried to help. I hope I didn't scare you."

Bucky can physically watch it on her face, the moment of confusion, then how her mouth falls open and her eyes widen, her gaze flickering down to the Cap uniform he’s wearing again, the confused, disbelieving realization.

“You…?”

"I had to get rid of it," he answers her unspoken question, following her eyes as they run over the star on his chest. "But - I couldn't just leave you, I wasn't - not after everything -"

“No… I - I dreamed -” She just stares at him for a long moment, something so vulnerable on her face. <“That was - you, that was real…?”>

<"It was, my precious one."> It's his turn to take her face gently in his hands, holding her close. "Real as anything."

Her eyes fall shut then, and he can see that she’s fighting with herself. So when she moves closer to turn her face into the crook of his neck and wrap her arms around his waist to be held, that’s what he does, gives her the opportunity to hide for just those few moments she needs to gather herself.

<“I get it now,”> she whispers against his skin, holds him a little tighter. <“You saved me right back, didn’t you?”>

<"Had to get you back sometime, it was starting to get pretty unfair,"> he smiles against her hair, holding her as close as he can.

<"I _left_ them because of you, James. Because of this."> She quietly shakes her head against his neck. <"That changed my life.">

<"Hey, don't give me too much credit, _you_ did all that."> He lets his left hand wander into her hair, cradling her head, and God, he could stay here forever, just holding her. He wants to. <"Glad I could help, though.">

<"Stop giving yourself so little,"> she insists, drawing away to look up at him. "We're going to talk about this at home. I need to go thank Wanda, I'm assuming it's her who pulled us back."

"She'd be my bet, too," he smiles, can't resist kissing her one more time. "I should get cleanup taken care of -"

"There are going to be photos all over the internet of me in a forties dress," Natasha huffs out in a soft laugh, then leans up and kisses him again. "I love you. Thank God you listened to me and got rid of the pomade."

"I looked like an idiot," he chuckles, indulging in another kiss. "I love you, too."

"Don't think anymore that it makes you look fifteen then?" she smirks, and Bucky knows they're going to have to be careful now or they're not going to stop kissing.

So he steals one more, nothing but a peck, and finally peels himself away from her, unwillingly. "It was the style back then, so hush -"

He flicks his eyes up to where Sam's still hovering, aware that just about all of their conversation's been overheard, too. At least the English parts. "Round up the first responders, Wilson, let’s get this mess sorted out before we get blamed for fucking over the morning commute again. Besides -"

Bucky reaches to stroke Natasha's cheek, giving her a small smile.

"I gotta girl to get home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to post to its completion, I'm so sorry! I hope you enjoyed this (short) final part of it. This story has been so well received, I'm so very happy that you gave us such positive feedback, because this part always has been and always will be very close to my heart.
> 
> All that said, thank you for reading, and look out for one direct and one indirect sequel to this! ;)


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